


You're the only one I see, and that's the one thing that won't change

by UndergroundValentine



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Conversations, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Parties, Rough Sex, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:45:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndergroundValentine/pseuds/UndergroundValentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Thor's wedding, and the only person Loki seems to be able to think about is Darcy. Especially once he sees her in that devilishly beautiful red dress...</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're the only one I see, and that's the one thing that won't change

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt I received on Tumblr--specifically Kat Dennings' red dress from the Emmy's how might Loki react to it. There is a quote at then end that belongs to Ralph Ellison, and the title belongs to SafetySuit's song "Never Stop". Loki and Darcy are not mine, and neither is the Thor/Avengers universe. Still, I hope you enjoy. :)

He had just finished strapping on the gold plated belt across his coat, tightening it to a comfortable place before he wandered across his room in search of his boots.  The room wafted with the smell of spearmint, candles, and leather, though he paid little mind to it.  The coming night’s festivities were playing hard in his mind, swirling with their anticipation.  Tonight was to be a night of revelry, frolic and passion.  Tonight was to be beautiful, glorious and lengthy in its wake.

Tonight, his brother was to be married.  

In the truth of it all, he cared little for the ceremonies at hand.  He felt that weddings were too frivolous and tiresome, that the receptions were gaudy and unnecessary, and the amount of food and time prepared for such events were exhausting and unhealthy.  Weddings were an overcomplicated process that could be simplified by the mere blessing of the Allfather and the pronunciation of eternal love between two individuals.  But rarely were such simple matters considered enjoyable. 

Still, though, he’d made a promise to Thor that he would attend the ghastly party, and that he would attempt to have a good time.  Operative word being attempt.  Given that Loki was hardly one for such august shindigs, he could only conceive in the farthest reaches of his conscious mind that the night would be filled with much drinking.  Fortunately, being brother to Thor and an active participant—however unwilling—to dozens of previous celebrations, Loki knew well that he could hold is own against liquor, retaining only enough to become light and pleasant, perhaps even tolerable.

Allowing himself the smallest of moments of silence, free of thoughts of Thor, of the wedding and the miniature clock that was ticking away within his mind until he would be burdened no longer with this night, Loki sighed softly, pushing his feet into his leather boots.  Laziness swept over him and he twisted his fingers, the buckles snapping themselves shut, tight and swift in their motions.  

When Thor had mentioned his intents to marry Jane Foster of Midgard and have those of the Avengers present, Loki had more than enough reason to voice his concerns—though Thor may have called him out on the matter that his “concerns” were truly fears.  He held no friendships with any and the thought of being locked in the great hall for the ceremony with five other individuals who held grudges against him was not exactly ideal.  Well, six, if he was to count one Erik Selvig.  Thor had stated he planned to invite the astrophysicist and Jane’s loyal companion, Darcy.

Darcy…  Now there was a woman whose presence Loki was more than looking forward to.  He had spoken only a little to her, few words in passing when Thor would drag Loki along for frequent trips to Midgard at the request of the Allfather and Erik Selvig—some business regarding physics that Loki held no interest for.  But Darcy was always around, always a charm.  Loki found her a delightful change of pace from those that his oaf of a brother often surrounded himself with.  She was quick-witted, intelligent and rarely did she shy away from an opportunity to speak her mind.

Normally, Loki was not one to associate himself with Midgardians—mortals, humans.  Those he once considered lesser than he.  But there were times where he could do little to avoid it, and one of those times had been when he first spoke with Darcy.  He hadn’t given her much thought, but that had quickly reversed itself when she showed no fear at his presence, instead criticizing him with her sarcastic sense of humor.  She’d left with him an impression that few others had and still kept their lives.

Darcy was different, that much was certain.  And while Loki could not determine whether he liked different, he knew he was, at the very least, fascinated with her and her intellectual mind.

Shaking his head, Loki stood slowly from the edge of his bed to walk over to the large mirror beside his armoire.  He looked himself over, making sure he looked presentable, regal for his status as a god and brother to the coming king.  Gold strappings, black leather, a deep green tunic…  He sighed quietly, quickly brushing his hair back with his fingers, pulling it away from his face.  He was not fond of Thor’s insistence that he look posh, for he felt naked without his coat and armor.  He felt vulnerable…

A knock sounded and Loki shoved the thought away, snatching up the black leather vest that was to go over his tunic before crossing to the door.  Quickly, he pulled it open to find Lady Sif standing there in a red and gold dress, gold chains looped around her waist and cuffs on her wrists.  She smiled softly at him, her dark hair braided over her shoulder.

“Are you ready, Loki?” she asked him, “The ceremony will begin soon, and the guests are arriving.”

Loki slid his arms into his vest, fastening it tight before shutting the door behind him.  ”Yes,” said Loki, “I am ready.  Shall we, Sif?”

The wedding began as all weddings do, with the seating of the guests and the quiet murmur of talk and gossip.  Loki stood off to one side of the golden platform, at the center stood Thor and Odin, waiting for the arrival of Jane.  There was only talk for a while before the music began, soft and sweet, the fanfares of arrival coming  into play.  The guests stood and Loki turned his eyes to the large double doors that stood shut, waiting to swing open to reveal the woman who would be one day queen of the realm.

The music played and Loki could see his brother’s wide, childish grin as the doors opened.  Standing just beyond was Erik Selvig with Jane Foster on his arm, as a father to his bride-daughter.  Erik was dressed simply in a black suit and white shirt with a red tie, his thinning hair neatly combed back, the smile on his face pulling his wrinkles into an aged and attractive happiness.  Beside him, Jane was radiant in a pure white gown, sweetheart in style, with thin diamond bands strapped over her shoulders.  A wide red band circled her waist beneath the bust, red ribbons hanging from a bow at her back.  Her hair was curled, half done up with a white rose tucked into the slight bun at the back of her head.  Had Loki felt any affections for Jane, he might have considered her worthy of an angelic status.

Beyond that, Loki paid little mind.  Erik escorted Jane to the stage where Thor stood in wait before taking his seat beside the Avengers—Loki actively avoided eye contact with any of them.  Odin then recited the old testaments and vows to be cherished and respected.  Thor and Jane each gave their respective promises of love, gratitude and eternal commitment as Thor eased a ring fashioned of ivory stone and a fragment of the Bifrost itself onto her left hand.  They kissed and there was a roar of applause from the rest of those gathered in the great hall.  Loki allowed a small smile and nothing more.

Instead, he turned his focus away from Thor and Jane, away from the crowd as they began to swarm the newlyweds, no doubt to shower them in words of congratulations.  Loki peeled himself from the stage, down to a long and elaborately dressed table, going to a section with hundreds of flutes of crystal drink, goblets of wine and pints of mead.  He took into hand a silver chalice with a deep red swirl, bringing it first to his nose for a sniff and then his lips for a drink.  Satisfied, he turned back to face the crowd, and nearly dropped his cup.

Not twenty paces away stood Darcy with luscious brown curls hanging in waves around her face, spilling over her exposed creamy shoulders.  Her blue-grey eyes smoldered in the candle-light and sunset that spilled from the open windows of the hall, and her full cherry-red lips were pulled up some into a devilish smirk.  A smirk that stirred something that felt borderline painful within Loki’s abdomen.

For a moment he wondered if time has stopped.  If the guests of the wedding had frozen with drink in hand and drunken smiles already forming, for there was no movement, no shift, no change in posture or sound.  There was only Darcy’s eyes, Darcy’s lips, Darcy’s breasts and how they were glorified in the folds of her dress and the erratic beating of Loki’s heart within his own ears.  There was only the stop of his breath and the rush of warm life to his thighs, and Darcy’s smirk broadened as she neared.

Loki had but a short moment to swallow the embarrassing lump of arousal from his throat with a large gulp of wine before Darcy’s arm brushed his own as she reached for a cup.  ”Lovely, isn’t it?” she offered before turning to stand beside him, viewing the hall as he did.

“Lovely,” he repeated, chuckling softly, “if the eternal bond between my oaf of a brother and a woman too naïve to realize she is too good for him is lovely, then perhaps it is so.  And it only further proves my raging lack of desire to be present.”

Darcy smiles beside him, and Loki was thankful that her eyes were forward because his were most certainly not.  ”Is it a lack of desire, your highness?  Because I doubt my eyes deceive any lacking in your being.”  Loki frowned and Darcy shot a look to his waist.  Loki’s ears tipped red.

“Tis the leather, Miss Lewis, nothing more,” Loki argued, taking another drink.  Darcy then laughed.  The insufferable seductress laughed.  ”How dare you—”

“You think that just because you’re a high and mighty god and you had a big ol’ plan to take over Earth makes you any less of a man?  Loki, I’ve dealt with enough men in my life to know when it’s “just leather” and when it’s a gloriously hard dick,” Loki turned his gaze upon her to find that her burning eyes were already searing into him, “trust me,  _your highness_ , it’s not the leather.”

Loki searched Darcy’s eyes, a scowl playing at his lips.  ”You have quite a sharp tongue for a mortal.”

“And you’re the god of lies, but you can’t fool me.”

“You are utterly infuriating.”

“And you’re sexy as fuck, but hey, it’s just details, right?”

This gave Loki pause, and he watched blankly as Darcy took another drink of her wine.  This woman was a mortal, a simple combination of atoms and molecules and water that somehow created mass and curve and snark.  And yet he was at a loss of words with her and her claim of his attractiveness.  How could someone so petty, so low beneath him in rank and power in every fabrication have the capability to leave Loki—the god of not just lies but _words_ —without that which he was so masterful at?  Blinking slowly, Loki licked his lips before deciding it was better to keep the jumbled mess of his thoughts from tumbling beyond his teeth, and he took a quick drink from his cup.

At his side, Darcy was watching him intently.  ”Oh my God,” she muttered with a wide grin, “you’re speechless.  You are literally speechless.  An ordinary woman like me calls you sexy and you have nothing to fall back on.  What’s the matter, years of daddy issues and coming second best humbled you to the depths of modesty?”

“You are no ordinary woman, Darcy,” Loki said calmly.  She eyed him.

“Yeah I know, big tits and brains and a gap between my teeth is pretty fucking unique huh?”

“You are beyond your years in intellect, and you have no fear nor shame in speaking your mind, even to someone like me.”

Now it was Darcy who was speechless.  But unlike Loki, it was a temporary state.  A brief money where her face was innocent and her eyes were doe’d.  Loki gazed upon her in that halted moment to memorize the intricacies of her relaxed face: her widened eyes, her softly parted red lips, her creamy pallor and how it glowed flushed in the waning light of the evening.  The candles were warm on her face and in that moment, Loki knew, she was breathtaking.

Her eyes left Loki’s and returned to her cup.  ”You know…  That’s the first time someone’s said.. well, anything like that to me before.  Usually it’s insults, or it’s science.  Or it’s objectifying.” Loki frowned.

“Who would objectify you?”

“Drunks and men who only see the tits until they experience my wrath of endless sarcasm and feminism, and then they see a bitch.  Don’t get me wrong, I love who I am and the gifts bestowed unto me by mother nature or whatever, but I am opinionated and men have one tracked minds, neither of which cohesively fit together.”

Loki studied Darcy’s face and the way her words curled together when she spoke.  He watched her lips and he watched her eyes.  He admired how the light played on her face and he found himself hanging onto each word, how they clung to the last and reached for the next.  He listened to her story, he analyzed it and he stored it away for safety.  And as she spoke, Loki listened to the underlying tone of defeat, of sadness, in her voice.  He watched the tremor of her throat as she swallowed.  He watched Darcy Lewis hide her loneliness.

“It is repulsive for men to objectify the women they are meant to care for and love in such a way.  They expect so much out of you yet they are greedy when it comes to returning affection and favor,” the god of lies and mischief, and Loki spat a truth even he was not aware he felt.

“And how would you know what it means to treat a woman right?”

Loki stopped, then, to take a moment to process Darcy’s words.  He could not fault her for her suspicion, but it didn’t make the ache any less.  He watched her face for a moment, contemplating the best advance in continuing the conversation before opting to drink instead, looking away from her.  He was a man of words, of cunning comebacks and sly remarks.  Yet this woman, this Darcy, perpetually found a way to silence his silver tongue every time.

There was a quiet stillness that hung between them as they watched the party goers of the wedding.  Loki was uncertain how he might address Darcy’s comment, and from the look of passive regret on her face, Loki could see that she felt the same in their suddenly halted talk.  Finishing his drink, Loki set his empty cup down onto the table behind him before smoothening his tunic.

“Well, Miss Lewis,” Loki began, preferring to address Darcy more formally now that their lax conversation had turned stiff, “this evening has been a pleasure, but I believe I shall retire for tonight.  I grow weary of these frivolities.”

He’d started to push away from the table when Darcy’s hand caught his elbow, “Wait, Loki,” she said quickly, her eyes refusing to find his when he turned on her.  “I’m sorry.  That was rude of me.”

“You claimed I knew not how to treat a lady correctly,” Loki remarked gently, giving Darcy a glance over his shoulder, “you hardly know me well enough to make such a statement about me.”

“I know…  And I’m sorry about that.  It’s just… I’ve had bad experiences with guys before and I get defensive when I don’t mean to be…”  Loki raised an eyebrow, pulling his arm from her grasp.

“Is that it, Miss Lewis?  That is your reasoning?”  Darcy’s face flushed.

“Of course.”

“You’re lying,” Loki smirked, “that is not your excuse and you know it.  Tell me, then, what is it?  Is it that I am a god?  That I wield the title ‘trickster’, a master of deception?  That your stories and legends tell I bear no heart, no compassion or consideration?  Perhaps those were all true at one point  but there is just one thing for you to remember,  _Miss_  Lewis, and that is this: I may be a god, I may carry with me a past of terror and death, but that makes me no less a man in my want, no less a lover in my caress, no less capable of giving every desire you may possess on the sole condition that you return no less to me.  I can give you lust and passion just as easily as I could give you tenderness and love.  All I ask is that you reciprocate such affections.”

Darcy’s eyes were wide, her face reddened to match her lips, her breasts rising and falling with shaky breath.  The heat had not dissipated from Loki’s thighs.  If anything, the stretch of leather had become close to unbearable and watching those beautiful breasts was becoming more than he could stand for.  Loki shifted his gaze between Darcy’s eyes, bold and bright in her want, searching for something—anything—that would scream her fear.

He found nothing.  And so he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her against him so she might feel his own burning desire, and he kissed her firmly.  Beneath his lips, Darcy’s surprised gasp melted into a quiet moan, her hands clutching at his arms, nails dipping into the fabric, pinching his skin.  He cared little that they might be stared upon, this odd couple of red and green and gold and pale flesh and heavy stares.  He cared little as he kissed Darcy, tasting her mouth, her painted lips, her every breath as she breathed into him.  There was only Darcy and her warm kiss, her smooth tongue, the silk of her dress and the smell of fire on her skin.

They broke, and Loki took hold of Darcy’s hand in his own, pulling her along from the hall of feasts and guests, down through the Asgardian palace to a place they could find a more private shelter.  The sounds of their footfalls echoed down long corridors and Loki had to trust his instincts to know that they were not being followed.  He was already an impatient individual by default, should anyone else intrude he knew they would, indeed, suffer greatly.

Turning another sharp corner, Loki guided Darcy up a small set of stairs to the doors of his chambers, his heart racing in his throat as he shoved his way into the room, pulling her after him.  With a wave of his hand, they slammed shut again, and there wasn’t even a moment before Darcy’s lips were on his again, her hands in his hair, his at her hips, fingers massaging through the fabric of her dress. 

Loki turned her, pressing her back to the wall of his bedroom, his lips ravaging at her throat, leaving small but devilishly dark marks in her pale skin.  Darcy arched, moaning deeply, her hands rapidly pulling at the belt and straps that held his tunic to his body and leather trousers, painted fingers fumbling with the buckles.  Shrugging out of them, the tunic hung loosely from Loki’s shoulders and he kissed her again, one hand pressed to the wall beside her head, the other at her hip.

Darcy’s lips parted for Loki’s cool tongue when her hand found his at her hip, bringing it up along her voluptuous curve, pushing her breast into his palm.  Loki growled into her lips, squeezing gently, his fingertips digging in before curling around the edge of her bodice, pulling it down sharply to reveal her naked tit.  Darcy’s gasp was quiet, shocked, before she arched and moaned loudly as his fingers captured the bud, twisting and pinching it teasingly. 

“Oh, fuck,” Darcy sighed, reaching up to pull down the other side, revealing her soft breasts to Loki’s eyes and hands.  The god groaned, dipping his head, leaving a kiss on the left as he fondled the right, bringing both hands up, one to each, to cup and caress them as he kissed and marked her skin.  Darcy arched off the wall, shivering under his touch, moaning and whining at each teasing nip.

He marked her, leaving her skin red and purpled, her tits sucked and pinched to full erection.  Darcy’s lips were faded from their kiss, swollen from where his teeth had captured and taken hostage.  Her eyes were dark and her curls mussed around her face, and as he took her dress in his hands, pulling it down to her hips, Loki knew she was the most beautiful creature to have ever graced the darkness of his life.

He let her dress rest at her hips, the twisted and gnarled folds reminding him of a dancer’s skirt as he stripped his tunic, pushing himself upon her, his cool chest soaking in her warmth.  Darcy brought her hands up, nails scraping along his ribs.  Loki shuddered in pleasure, rutting his hips against her own for only a moment.

“You are beautiful,” Darcy commented with a soft sigh, pulling the last belt free from his trousers, deft fingers untying the laces at his crotch.  Loki leaned forward, kissing her neck sweetly.

“As are you, my dear,” he replied, kissing her jaw before finding her lips.  He felt her fingers working at the knots, and he bucked into her grasp when her cool digits found his aching cock.  Loki’s eyes slipped shut and he moaned loudly, rolling his hips, thrusting into her palm.  Beneath him, Darcy moaned, tightening her hand, tugging when he drew back.

He removed himself from her hold, pulling her from the wall to take her to his bed.  He pressed her to it, kissing her shoulders before shoving her down onto it, his fingers curled into the folded fabrics before ripping the dress from her body.  He left her there for a moment, naked save for black lace that covered her cheeks and her sex, admiring the soft pallor of her skin, how even it was from face to toe.  Reaching down, Loki slid a hand along her thigh, fingers skimming over the lace before inching up her torso, between her breasts before he cupped her face.

Darcy was shivering, blushing in the light, and Loki smirked before he kissed her slowly.  Her tongue was fire and her lips were cherry smooth, warm and flush against his own mouth.  Loki moaned softly, deepening the kiss as Darcy’s hands returned to the leather of his trousers, slowly pushing them down past his thighs until they were beyond her reach.  Only then could Loki kick them away, leaving himself just as bare and exposed as Darcy.

“Oh, God,” Darcy moaned, her eyes fixated on Loki’s erection, “that’s not a dick, that’s fucking myeuh-muh…”  Loki raised an eyebrow.

“Pardon?”  Darcy shook her head, pulling him closer.

“Never mind…”  Chuckling, Loki kissed her skin, his fingers dragging along her stomach to the front of her lace undergarment, cool tips toying with the waist band, pulling at it for a moment to let his fingers slide beneath.  He touched warm flesh and smooth, stiff curls before slipping between the wet folds of Darcy’s sex, feeling her quiver and tighten around his fingers.  She bucked into him, her thighs spreading as his fingers dipped further, and she cried out as his palm pressed to the sensitive nub of nerves.

Smirking, Loki curled his finger, moving it slowly within her, aching between his own thighs as he easily slid a second within.  She was hot around his fingers, soaking his skin.  Her back arched and her breasts bounced as she jerked in pleasure, eyes firmly shut, lips open wide.  Oh, how he wondered how perfectly those lips might mold around his cock, the red smearing on his flesh.  His eyes closed at the image as he scissored and fucked Darcy with his long, slender digits, preparing her for his hardened length.

“Look at you,” Loki hissed, pushing in a third before reaching up with his opposite hand, bunching the lace in his palm before tugging it down Darcy’s pale legs, ripping it free as quickly as he had done her dress.  Darcy shivered as she stared up at him, her thighs trembling.  His fingers were sheathed within her, the inside of his palm moist with her juices from where he’d pressed his hand close to reach deep.  Her face was flushed, the paint of her lips smeared into her cheek, “spread, wet and wanton beneath me.  Such a pretty little wretch.  Oh, don’t give me that look, my sweet.  Your body aches for my touch, for my caress and my kiss.  You bend to my will and my hand so easily despite your pretty little performance in the hall this evening.  You play so independently that your desire for subjugation is infuriatingly obvious.  Deny me with your lips and your gaping lips, but this, Miss Lewis—” Loki took pause, curling his fingers before spreading them inside Darcy, forcing her to jerk and cry out with pleasure.  Her hand dropped to palm over his own, and she pushed his fingers deeper, “— _this_  is all the answer I need to know of your pathetic lies.”

“ _Fuck me!_ ”  Darcy shouted, frustration plain on her face.  Loki smirked, quickly withdrawing his hand from Darcy’s, pulling his fingers from her sex.  They were dripping, and smelled so strongly of her that Loki shuddered, every burning instinct to have her, mark her, make her bleed and ache from his force and his desire.  Everything flared with a fire that Darcy could only fan.

“Have care of what you wish for, my pet,” Loki began, using his soaked hand to slick his throbbing cock, “you might regret your impatience.”

“Make me regret it,” Darcy whined, voice hoarse with lust, “fucking make me…take…  Take me…”

Loki gave her no pause, no respite.  He was a man of tender and care when he so wished to be.  But more often than not was he a man of power, of force, of control.  Control of desire, of domination.  Oh, how he loved to dominate.  How he loved to bind those lesser than he, to play puppeteer to their basest wants, to deny them their releases only when he felt they’d screamed long enough.  How he loved to break them in his deft hands, only to piece them together with his own satisfaction.

His hands palmed Darcy’s inner thighs, spreading her legs wider before he forced himself inside of her, the slide of her dripping sex and the slick of her juices on his own member bearing only a small relief.  His fingers could only prepare so much of her tight core to accommodate him.  Where he may have been slight in figure, he was blessed in manhood.

Darcy screamed, then, arching her back as perfectly as a strung and strained bow.  Her curls were tangled and disheveled, sticking to her forehead and neck from the thin layer of sweat that glistened upon her reddened flesh.  Her marked breasts were dotted, tits firm, and when Loki had buried himself inside of her, he reached up with one hand to tease her further, scraping her tit with his nails, rolling and pinching it almost painfully.  Darcy tensed around him, her hands clawing at the sheets of Loki’s bed, crying out again.

Groaning softly, Loki held tight to her breast in one hand, palming her hip in the other.  Darcy’s legs shifted, curling around his waist, tight and desperate and he began to thrust.  He was slow, to start, short snaps of his hips to ease the ache and the stretch, but when he began to slide from her, he began to fuck harder and deeper.  Darcy’s cries of pleasure only egged him further, and soon he was grunting above her, lips dragging along her jaw, teeth pulling at the soft flesh of her throat.

Moaning, Darcy’s hands started at the backs of his shoulders, sliding down along his spine before her nails dug in, and she began her quick work of tearing his back to shreds.  Loki howled in pleasure, snapping his hips harder into hers.  This woman was devilishly sexy and infuriatingly smart, and it so seemed that she need no direction in doing everything that turned him on.  Could it have been this mortal, this perfect human, was simply made for him in every regard?

Shoving such thoughts aside, Loki groaned as Darcy drug her nails across the back of his neck.  He kissed her hard, pounding into her, forcing wails of ecstasy to fall from her lips, tumbling from her throat like waters flowing over an edge to create a waterfall.  Arching, Loki rolled his hips, fucking Darcy as hard, as deep, and fully as he possibly could.  Her eyes were tightly shut, panting as she clutched and clawed at him.  It took only another moment, another few thrusts into that most pleasurable of spots within and Darcy tightened the walls of her sex, tightened her legs and screamed.

She came, her body clenching and jerking around him before she began to relax, light twitches shaking her.  Loki thrust a few more times, grunting and groaning before he, too, came, his seed spilling inside of her, painting her inner walls, sinking deep within her being.  He gasped quietly before falling over her, his head resting beside hers, choking for breath into her neck.  He could feel her heart beating against his chest, just as rapid and heavy as his own.  Loki moaned quietly, letting his eyes fall shut.

They laid there for a long while, letting the sweat cool on their skin.  Loki was certain Darcy had left marks, perhaps even drawn blood, for his back was on fire and every inch of movement only caused that searing pain to spike in a map of criss-crosses from the back of his neck to the base of his spine.  He found little reason to care as he calmed above her, his ragged breath returning to normal. 

Slowly, Loki pulled his limp cock free from Darcy’s spent sex, wincing as pain flared across his back, laying on his side next to her.  Before him, Darcy was still, breathing slowly, her eyes locked with the ceiling of the bedroom.  He watched her face, marveling her glow, pondering her expression.  He could read most people, had often read Darcy before.  But now he could not.  She was sealed away from him.

“Darcy,” Loki whispered, his voice wrecked as he reached up to touch her cheek, “Darcy… are you alright?”

She remained motionless for a long moment, barely blinking, breathing in long, slow drags.  For a moment Loki was fearful, but when her lips parted just enough to speak in a quiet murmur, Loki had to fight a chuckle of frustrated amusement, “No one’s ever fucked me like that before.  Then again, I’ve never fucked a god before.  Must just be a god thing.”

“You are impossible,” Loki teased, and Darcy turned her head to face him, smiling softly.

“I don’t think I quite noticed you caring while you were pounding me through your bed.  Which, it’s very comfortable by the way.  Perfect for rough sex like this.”  Loki smiled, caressing her cheek.

“It is just as perfect for gentle love-making, too,” he added, shifting his gaze to meet her eyes. 

“Is that right?” he nodded, “I wasn’t aware you could be gentle in bed.  That’s not boring to you?”  Loki laughed.  He actually laughed.

“There has only ever been one other person with whom I have made honest, pure love to.  And they did not bore me.”

“Well, I hope you find me interesting enough that I might experience this gentle Loki shit.”  Loki smiled, leaning over to kiss Darcy slowly.

“Darcy, my sweet,” he murmured into her lips, “I could never find you boring.”

Darcy laughed quietly, turning onto her side so that she might better face him.  Loki gazed upon her, unable to believe that a mere hour or so before, he had been devising plans to tear himself away from Thor’s wedding and of the ridiculous ceremony.  And now he was here, beside one Darcy Lewis, smelling heavily of sex and having little care for anything else but Darcy.  He looked into her eyes and smiled softly, gently pulling her into his arms.

“Didn’t take you for the cuddly type,” Darcy commented, nestling closer in his hold.

“’Tis not a side of myself I am comfortable sharing with my oaf of a brother and his comrades, to say the least.  Never the less, I am quite fond of holding my lover.”  Darcy shifted, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised.

“So I’m officially your lover now, hm?”  Loki paused.

“I was under the impression you wanted to be?”  Darcy stared at him.

“Why me?  You could have had any other woman—a woman of your kind.  So why me?  What was so special about me?”

“Had the price of looking been blindness, I would have looked,” Loki quoted softly, trailing circles into Darcy’s cheek with his fingertips.  She frowned and Loki smiled tenderly, cupping her face.  “You are an extraordinary woman, Darcy.  You need not have other worldly traits, unimaginable talents, nor even a title of royalty or power.  You simply exist, and I am enchanted by you.  You may very well be the death of me some day, and I will greet my end gladly knowing it came from you.”

“That is, strangely, the nicest thing someone has said to me.  And it comes from a Norse god.  You know, maybe the reason relationships never worked out for me back home was because I had some secret higher expectation or some shit,” Darcy smirked and kissed Loki’s cheek, “thank you, Loki.”

“For what?”

“For this.  All of this.  For seeing that I’m something worthwhile.”  Loki’s heart hit his throat.

“I should thank you, Darcy.  Rarely have I found someone who bears me no fear or ill will.  It is a comforting thing to have someone at my side with whom I can confide everything.”

“Well, that’s me.  Local psychiatrist.”  Loki rolled his eyes and smiled

“You are more than that, love.”

“Oh really?  Then what am I?”

“Mine.”


End file.
